“Hypocrite lecteur — mon semable — mon frere!
— Charles Baudelaire, “Fleur Du Mal”
How the newborn Adolf Hitler,
a beautiful boy as precious
and fragile as an Easter chick,
came to be known as a monster
remains one of the great mysteries
in the history of psychopathology
Imagine the infant opening his eyes,
trying to understand the pain and love
in his mother’s face, the gruff orders
of a dictator dad
Adolf didn’t choose his tangled brain,
gristled mug or broken heart
He just wanted to paint beautiful pictures,
enjoy an occasional pat on the back
For all we know, one drab morning he woke
to slap his naked feet on the cement floor
of his dank kellerwohnung, rushed to view
himself in the remnant of a tarnished mirror
he found digging in the alley rubbish heap
and discovered he had been totally screwed:
Bad looks, bad brain, no talent, no girlfriend
No wonder the guy was prone to tantrums
And you, reader, sitting there,
what’s your story?